


Wall Rose: New York's Premier Gay Nightclub for the Eccentric

by yungmulabaybay (yungmulahbaybay)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Drag Queens, Drug Use, Gay Bar, M/M, Multichapter, Slow Build, dragqueen!jean, stripper!eren
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-03 13:23:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4102552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yungmulahbaybay/pseuds/yungmulabaybay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jean was six years old he told his mom that he was going to be Barbra Streisand when he grew up.  He actually grew up to be Cher. </p><p>Jean is a slutty drag queen with people problems and Marco is the friendly new bartender. The stage? Wall Rose: New York’s Premiere Gay Night Club for the Eccentric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The opening beats of _Work Bitch_ pulsed through the dark, crowded nightclub. When the lyrics pulled in a few seconds later, the stage burst with light and Britney Spears, her back to the audience, pumped her foot to the beat. She swung around and dropped, the lights flashing across her bright blue eyes. She was tightly clad in latex; thigh high boots hugged her slim legs and a black corset cinched in her thin waist and pushed out her tantalizing breasts. She wore a high blonde pony tail and exaggerated eye makeup that brought out her delicate facial features. She mouthed along to the lyrics, swinging her hair around and dropping into splits, eating up the obnoxious crowd.

Jean scoffed. Armin deserved the noise-- he was looking fierce tonight. He’d really put a lot of effort into his look, and it was a Saturday, so of course the crowd would be extra wild. Jean wasn’t fully dressed yet; he had on a light blonde wig, one of his favorites, and a tight mini dress that substituted his usual corset and jumpsuit. He still had at least half an hour before his show so he had forgone the breastplate for now, enjoying the less suffocating feel of the polyester on his chest. He watched Armin with a smirk. Tonight Armin had chosen Britney and damn was it sexy. He usually alternated between Madonna and the original Femme Fatale, but Jean knew Armin was going the extra mile for his crush, Eren, the leading male stripper. Jean spotted Eren leaning against the bar with his sister, Mikasa, eyes trained on the small blonde boy.

Armin stomped across the stage and fell into a split as the song closed. The crowd howled. He dragged himself up into a wilted but sexual pose as _Stronger_ began. Jean took another sip of his drink. He pulled a drag from his cigarette and tapped the ashes into a penis shaped ashtray.

“Damn, Armin is tearing it up!” Connie passed by Jean and leaned over the bar top on his elbows to get a better look at the stage. Jean nodded, finished his martini and ground out the butt of his cigarette.

“Better get ready, don’t wanna piss off Levi again.” He stood up and patted Connie on the cheek, scratching his acrylics across the bartender’s prickly skin.

“Knock ‘em dead Jeanbo!”

Jean pushed away from the bar and moved toward the back entrance, battling through the crowd. He passed Bertholdt in the doorway and sighed at the sweaty man.

“Jean you’re—“

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going, Armin’s got like three more songs anyway, and tell Levi to suck my dick for giving me the Thursday shift next week.” He hardly stopped to check his name off Bertholdt’s clipboard before he was moving off down the narrow hallway again toward the communal changing rooms. He pushed the heavy door in and swept the shear curtain away before entering the empty workroom. He sighed again as the door closed, taking the rest of the noise with it. Jean reached into his dress and pulled out his phone before activating the Bluetooth and putting on his work playlist. Cyndi Lauper let Jean know exactly what girls wanted as he pulled the blonde wig off and undid the back of his dress. There were six stations in the workroom: Jean’s, Armin’s, Reiner’s, Eren and Mikasa’s then two more for the alternating queens that came in during the week and for special occasions. Jean pulled out his iconic costume and thick black wig from his clothes rack near the door. His makeup was nearly done but he added a few more touches to his contouring and applied another stroke of mascara to his fake lashes. He finished off with a final coat of nude lipstick over the dark lip liner and he was done. He was lucky the costume took such little work to put on. Jean shrugged into the light booby-bib and pulled on his fake ass. The actual costume was little more than a sheer bodysuit and some bondage-esque chains. He pulled his wig on and secured the hairline down with spirit gum. He finished his look with his own pair of thigh-high black boots and looked deep into the wall mirror with a smirk. Damn did he look fishy to tonight. His face fucking _glowed_. He grabbed his black leather jacket and pulled the door open.

On his Britney nights Armin always closed with _Slave 4 You_ and as the final chorus came around Jean hung back in the stage wings, just outside the audience’s view. Armin took one final bow before blowing a few kisses into the audience, the last one pointedly at Eren, still loitering near the bar. Eren gave a sultry wink back to the boy and Armin giggled, covering his mouth with a gloved hand. The Britney impersonator met Jean in a breathy hug as he left the stage. He gave Jean a kiss and whispered “good luck” before prancing back to the workroom to change. Jean was smiling as the lights faded out and the curtains dropped. He could hear Reiner in front of the curtains thanking the crowd and asking for another round of applause for Britney. Jean checked his look one last time before making his way to center stage and preparing his pose. His heart beat fast against the polyester and latex on his chest. He pressed his hands into his hips and looked to Bertholdt in the wings for his cue. Reiner began introducing Jean as he always did and Jean looked up to the ceiling and closed his eyes.

“… everyone, please give a warm welcome to our very own, Jean Kitsch as Ms. Cherilyn Sarkisian!” The crowd whopped and wolf-whistled as the curtains lazily opened. Jean took one last breath before turning his gaze to the audience and smirking.

“If I could turn back time…” Jean mouthed along to lyrics, sauntering across the stage and raising up his arms. It was a classic and many of the audience members howled along to the words. Jean became a different person under the spotlights and the covered in foundation and eye shadow. He let the heavy black wig do the trick and whipped his hair over his shoulder and swung his hips to the beat. The song closed and Jean was blazed. The few drinks he’d had earlier helped smooth out the lines and sharp curves of his movements into a fluid, swimming mess. He had four songs and a thirty second promo standing between him and his walk home. This was his second and final performance for the night and he was nearly dead on his feet. The next song would be a breeze; he slipped off his jacket and swung it into the wings (hey that shit was expensive, no way was some loser in the audience getting a piece of Jean Kitsch merch tonight). He wrapped his arms across his chest and dropped down as _Believe_ pumped through the speakers.

When Jean shot up and struck a pose at the first round of the chorus he glanced into the audience, a fierce smirk on his painted lips. His eyes swept over the crowd passing over familiar and unfamiliar faces. He saw Sasha serving Eren and Armin drinks and Connie over by the draft beers showing a hot dude the tap options and— _holy fuck_. Jean paused and his eyes sparkled. He kept his gaze trained on the toned man with Connie. The bald boy demonstrated the draft machine again before handing the guy a 24oz and letting him fill it. Connie then gestured vaguely to the stage, still talking, and pointed up at Jean. The man followed Connie’s arm and caught Jean’s eyes. Jean sucked in a breath. Hot damn, he thought. He stuttered a bit over the lyrics and the man gave him a grin. He watched Jean for a few more moments, keeping the casually intense eye contact, before Connie finally pulled him away. Jean felt his heart drop when the man disappeared behind a column leaving only a bit of his right side visible. He could see his long arm and the cuff of his shirt rolled perfectly to just below his elbow. He had nice looking hands. And a nice looking ass. And, fuck, his hair looked nice too, the back of it at least. And his eyes, when he could see them, were deep and pure. Jean thought he’d seen just about everything working in a gay nightclub but obviously he hadn’t.

And boy was he fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feeling inspired by Pearl, kinda based on her but with the SNK twist #flazéda


	2. One

When he pulled his wig off back stage a little over half an hour later, Jean couldn’t have been more wound up. His shoulders ached from the sticky breast-plate and his makeup was starting to run from the sweat dripping into his eyes. He aggressively rubbed at the layers of foundation and concealer caked onto his face to get off as much as he could before leaving the club. He hated the stares he got on the subway on his way home. Jean carefully untucked his package and took off his panty-hose-bald-cap. A few rogue bobby pins snagged in the delicate fabric and ripped a hole where his temporal lobe had been. A curse and the brand new cap was tossed in the trashcan by the door. He sighed at his newly red face and sweaty hair in the mirror and pulled up his cut-off shorts. It was summer and fuck did the Big Apple ferment like month old yogurt in the heat. Jean shrugged into a bright Hawaiian button up and slipped on his purple socks and crusty old dr. Martens. The laces on his left shoe had given out a few months ago so Jean “borrowed” one of his roommates sparkle toe laces instead of buying a new pair (he only needed one lace, no point in buying a new pair! Plus Christa said the sparkle toe sneakers gave her kankles). Jean stuffed his phone and drag wear in his dirty white tote bag and left the workroom.

While he was entirely too interested in Connie’s hot acquaintance, the need for a good nights sleep overtook his curiosity. Even if he did find and subsequently talk to the boy, it wasn’t like he wanted to get laid tonight. So Jean bypassed the bar, deciding to leave out the side entrance instead. He pulled out a cigarette and reached into his back pocket for his matches. He patted his jeans for a few frantic moments before deciding they must be somewhere in the workroom.

“Fuuuck.” Jean rolled his eyes up toward the caged light bulb above the side door. He sighed and in a brief seizing moment decided against going back inside. He had matches at home and maybe he could bum a light off the patrons loitering outside the club. He turned the corner of the bar and saw the last few customers stumbling into a waiting cab. A few more were laughing boisterously further down the dim street. Jean sighed again and decided to just head home. He tucked the unlit fag behind his ear and turned around, heading for the Canal street subway entrance.

Jean shrugged his tote higher up his shoulder and turned the corner, slamming into another firm body. He gasped and tensed up.

“Ow, fuck, sorry.”

“Jeeze!”

The other man gripped his shoulders in an attempt to stabilize the slightly smaller man. Jean looked up and into the eyes of the asshole. He recognized the shape of his haircut and forearms immediately—the man from the bar.

“Sorry.” Jean was barely given a moment to breath before the man was releasing him and walking away.

“Uhh, do you have a light?” Jean stuttered out after the retreating man, instantly embarrassed at his sudden outburst. _Stupid fuck_.

The man turned back and nodded. “Um yeah, here, sorry again.” He pulled out a lighter from his front pocket and walked back. Jean met him halfway, pulling the cigarette from his ear and putting it between his lips. The man brought up the lighter and instead of handing it to Jean flicked the striker wheel and held the flame up to Jean’s cigarette. Jean, startled by the sudden closeness, sucked in too deep of a breath, instantly regretting it as the smoke dried out his throat and swirled into his lungs. He heavily swallowed and tried to suppress a cough, tears brimming to his eyes. The man smiled and in the light of the flame he saw a splash of freckles across his nose and under his eyes. Jean stepped back and nodded.

“Thanks.” He choked out and hunched over, turning back down the street towards the subway tunnel.

* * *

 

 

When Jean finally found his wallet near the bottom of his tote his heart was still racing. He fumbled with the Velcro on the flap and managed, just barely, to not drop his Metrocard as he scanned into the subway stop. The little light flashed red and beeped aggressively at him, he only had 26 cents left on the card. _Fuck_. Jean backed away from the entrance machine and glared at the annoyed looking tourists behind him. There was a line at the card renewal station and Jean queued in behind two teenage girls who smelled like expensive booze and Chanel. Definitely JAPs, the Blundstone boots and vintage Prada bags gave it away. Jean sighed at their bleached blonde hair and strappy dresses. At least his bleach job looked better, thanks to Eren. The male stripper had been doing Jean’s hair before he’d even graduated cosmetology school. Jean waited, tapping his shoes against the concrete while the girls giggled about their debit cards. Just as they finished at the machines, the last R train of the night pulled into the station.

“Fuck, fuck!” Jean scrambled to unwrinkle a ten and shove it into the machine. Just as he was running over to the entrance gates the doors closed and the train began to pull away. He saw the two girls inside the train leaning against each other near the closest door. Great, and he’d already swiped his card. He pushed through the turning entrance and reached for his phone. If he was lucky he could still catch a J train and walk from Lormier. It would add another ten minutes of walking to his commute but it was cheaper than taking a taxi back to Brooklyn.

He texted his roommate, Christa, to let her know he’d be late and to make sure the buzzer was off so he could get in. His service went out just before the text fully sent and Jean glared down at his crappy phone. The R train rumbled up the tracks and Jean quickly got on. The car was serenely empty except for Jean and an older man in a tie. Jean slouched against the orange chairs and closed his eyes against the bright florescent lights. The train smelled like urine and sweat and Jean wasn’t sure he could say better about himself. It had been a very long day and he wasn’t even home yet. He had to be up early tomorrow for his ballet class at 9 and then meet up with Reiner, Annie and Christa in the afternoon to practice their audition piece for the Sina Dance Company on Tuesday. Levi rented out the Wall Rose stage during the day to dance and theatre students as a practice space. Well, “rented” was maybe not the right word. Jean hadn’t paid anything to Levi in nearly two years for the studio space, and Levi hadn’t asked him to. He grumbled about the electricity and the scuffed up floor from the practicing students but his threats never came to pass. He would even sit in and watch sometimes.

That was how Jean got his current job. Levi had pulled Jean over after practice one day and stiffly informed him of a job opening at his nightclub. Jean had done campy drag in high school, so the idea of becoming part of the Wall Rose drag family was more than appealing. Reiner (aka “Devine Intervention”) already had a job as Cheryl Lloyd so Jean knew he could trust Levi’s intentions. Wall Rose was famous for their impersonations as well as original drag characters. The next weekend Jean was waiting tables as “Jean Kitsch”, New York’s freshest drag face. He worked his way up from waiter to back-up dancer to Reiner’s understudy and finally to an original Cher impersonator.

Jean rolled his head back against the scratched glass behind him and stared up at an ad for Corn and Callus treatment. _Do you suffer from painful corns on your feet? Try Dr. Scholl’s One Step Corn Removal Kit._ God bless, if Jean wasn’t home soon he might just pass out here on the bumpy subway seats. The older man in the corner growled a little in his sleep. Just after 2:30, the train arrived at the Lormier stop and Jean followed the small but rumbling crowd of people to the tunnel entrance. Jean blended in better with the Brooklyn residents, his clothes and hair meshed well with the people around him. The tension of being in Manhatten slowly began to leave his body. Jean still had a twenty-minute walk from the subway station but if he made the lights it would only be fifteen. The sticky heat made his light clothes cling to his body and his boots were uncomfortably suffocating his feet. By the time he finally rounded the corner of Spencer St., Jean was really wishing he’d brought his canteen from the workroom.

Jean pulled out his keys and opened the heavy metal frame protecting the door to his apartment behind it. He buzzed twice and tried the lock. The repairman should have come by yesterday to fix the broken lock but he was still a no-show. Jean and Christa were holding out by taking turns on the buzzer to let themselves in. Jean buzzed again and still nothing. He pulled out his phone and called Christa but after the third try and no answer he gave up and went around to the alley to try the fire escape. If he was lucky, Christa’s girlfriend was over and so the fire escape would be open for her to smoke out of. Jean had never wished for Ymir’s presence so vehemently before, he usually counted down the minutes until Christa’s obnoxious LA girlfriend was gone. Ymir moved to New York a few months after Christa. They both graduated from Berkeley and decided to relocate to the city to start working. Christa worked at a dance studio for little kids. She trained the kids of the New York elite how to ouvert and pirouette for their fancy parents. Ymir was a chef during the day and by night she performed at a local comedy theatre. All in all, a very “Brooklyn” couple.

Jean dropped his tote next to a trashcan and crawled onto the buildings dumpster to reach the fire escape. He yanked the ladder down and jumped off, landing on his toes. After grabbing his tote, Jean deftly climbed up the ladder up to the fourth floor. Luckily, as if anything was lucky for Jean when Ymir was involved, Ymir was in fact in his apartment so the window on their “balcony” was open. He pushed it up further and dropped into the dark room. Jean had been very lucky with this apartment. His great uncle had lived here for over thirty years before Jean got the place so the rent control made the still atrociously expensive rent bearable. When uncle Moliere went to a nursing home in Flushing a few blocks over, Jean’s mother let him move into the apartment to let him move out of the crazy expensive NYU dorms. It was a classic three room plus a bathroom set up with the two bedrooms and the bathroom hidden behind a hallway on one side and the living room/kitchenette on the other. The entrance was in the hallway between Christa’s bedroom and the living room. The ceilings were high and the floor was sturdy, worn wood and Jean was proud of the butcher-block counters in the kitchen. It was small but it was enough for a young twenty-something trying to make a break in the city of dreams.

“Merow—“ Jean cursed and picked up his feet as their newest housemate scampered off the sofa. He sighed when the cat circled his ankles, rubbing up against the beaten leather and purple socks. Christa brought him home a few days ago and Jean was still refusing to accept his presence. The stupid thing would be dying in a park somewhere by now if Jean had his way, but Ymir threatened his balls on the cat’s, and Christa’s, happiness so Jean wasn’t given much of a choice. It was a grey tabby that disturbingly reminded him of the cat from Pet Semetary.

“Jean?” Christa yawned out his name as she peeked around the corner of the hallway wearing what might have once been a kimono from a children’s Halloween costume but now looked more like a dingy piece of lingerie. She turned on the small faux-Tiffany lamp on top of the record crates next to the couch.

“Yeah, just me, stupid cat scared me.”

Christa fully emerged and came over to sweep the cat into her arms. “Poor besito, he looks just as scared as you!” She curled the cat into her arms. “Ymir’s here, asleep. How was work? Did you get out of the shift next Thursday?”

“It was fine,” Jean tugged at the laces of his boots and undid the first few buttons on his shirt. “Levi fuckin’ booked me on Thursday, little dick, so no-go on the party, sorry.”

“That’s fine, you can stop by later, if you’re not too tired. I’ll save some jello shots and spliff for ya’.” Christa stroked the cat and yawned. “I’m gunna go to bed, I have work at 8. Dance concert, yada yada. I love my girls, but they can barely hold a plié. Wish me luck.” She gently let the cat back onto the couch and turned back into the hallway.

Jean grunted and finished taking off his shoes. He chugged a glass of water before returning to his room. The light from the table lamp caressed the hallways and turned the grey paint in his room into a soft mahogany. He didn’t even bother turning on any lights, just striped down to his boxers and queued up his alarm for 6am and fell asleep on top of his covers.

* * *

 

The next morning Jean found Ymir in the kitchen nursing a chipped coffee cup filled with green tea. He glared at her slumped shoulders and started up the coffee machine. She barely noticed his presence, focused on a story in the newest copy of the Paris Review that his grandparents had been sending him since he was twelve. They sent him the old copy every time a new journal came out. He had nearly a dozen laying around his apartment, most of them read and re-read, highlighted, dogeared and wrinkled with coffee.

“That stuff’s fucking disgusting and it makes you shit.” Ymir flipped a page and took another sip of tea. Jean rolled his eyes and made a face at her back before he chose to ignore her comment and went into the bathroom for a shower. So what, coffee keeps you regular, nothing wrong with it. Plus, tea was for Soho bitches and old people anyway, so pretentious. Christa was long gone but the scent of her lavender shampoo still lingered in the bathroom. Jean started the shower and let it run as he shaved and filed his fingernails. An hour later and Jean was slipping on his shoes and chugging a bottle of Christa’s kefir. The chia seeds in the goopy yogurt stuck in his throat as Jean took the last gulp and tossed it in a trashcan outside an adjoining building. The city was newly alive and smelled like diapers. Jean waited at the subway stop, preparing to board the R train back into Manhattan. He had a cigarette lit just as he cleared the stairs at Bowery stop and let the smoke curl around his lips, dancing up his cheek bones and dissipating into the city. He crushed the bud under his boots and dashed up the stairs to the studio on the fifth floor of a gallery building on Mott street. Jean quickly pulled off his street clothes (his cutoffs and a flannel), his docs, and dropped his tote next to the wide glass windows that looked out onto the Old St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Most of the other students were already warming up on the bars or stretching out their legs and shoulders. Jean spotted Reiner and their friend Petra doing partner stretches and strode over.

“Hey!” Reiner stood up from his splits and ruffled Jean’s hair. “Saw your show last night, very sexy Mr. Kitsch!” Reiner grinned and raised his eyebrows. “Ready to get warmed up? I’m gunna fill my bottle before class, Petra’s good though.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Jean dropped into Reiner’s place on the floor and let Petra move his arms and twist his torso.

“So, heard you were Cher again. Also heard you looked gorgeous, as usual, sorry I wasn’t there, Thomas and I had a… date, I guess.” Petra helped Jean up and settled down where Jean had been.

“A date? Probably worth it then, although, these hips don’t lie, you mighta missed out on some quality booty last night—I mean like eye candy booty, not sexy booty.” Jean smiled and cracked his neck. He knew Petra was weird about sex, especially since she’d started pinning after a certain Columbia sculpture major. Thomas had been an intern at Petra’s mom’s gallery last summer so the two had gotten pretty close. This summer, Thomas had a job on Coney Island so Petra had taken to spending a ridiculous amount of time hanging around the decrepit amusement park. She always gave out free day passes but Jean still couldn’t figure out what his friend saw in the boring-for-a-sculpture-major guy. He was cute, but Thomas’d grown up in the epi-center of prep, Westchester, and it showed.

Petra giggled and leaned forward to press her torso to the ground. “We’re going to a gallery opening on Tuesday, you should come! It’s for a still life photography installation, supposed to be really good!"

“Yeah, I’ll think about it, text me later.” Just as Jean finished helping Petra to her feet to start bar stretching Hange Zoe, the rouge dance instructor strutted through the dark wood doors of the dance studio.

“Attention, _mes petits_! Today we will continue our modern instruction—Monsieur Smith will be leading the class and I will be correcting form!” Zoe nodded once before moving to the sound system and selecting the music for the day’s class. Jean groaned but finished the ribbons for his shoes and moved to join the rest of the class by the mirrors.

* * *

 

 

Zoe let the class out fifteen minutes earlier than their scheduled two-o-clock release so Jean had ample time to grab lunch before he met up with his practice group. He decided to stop by the farmers market at Columbus Park for a bolillos and avocado sandwich. He found a bench to sit at near the small fountain that didn’t smell like death or old people and sat down to eat. The park was noisey with kids off from school and lost tourists looking for Broadway. Jean plugged his headphones in and turned up the volume, drowning out the noise of the city and ate his sandwich. When he finished, he dropped the foil in a nearby bin before walking over and up Lafayette Street to the bar.

At the corner of Lafayette and Canal, in the heart of China Town, Jean saw The Man From Last Night. He was a few paces ahead of Jean, just walking up from the subway. He hadn’t seen Jean yet so the drag queen held back, opting to sleuth out the subject rather than approach. The Man continued up Lafayette Street, so in Jean’s defense, it wasn’t really stalking yet. Jean was only a block from the bar and was breathing harder, weighing the pros and cons of just continuing to follow The Man. He had no idea how far or where The Man was going, and it wasn’t like he could follow him into a building or sit down at a restaurant with him—

Jean never had to make that decision because just as he was making up excuses as to why he would be late to practice, The Man slipped into the alleyway next to Wall Rose and pulled out a set of keys. Jean slowed down as he neared the entrance, entirely too concerned about this stranger and watched him struggle with the faulty lock on the backdoor. Jean heard him grumble out a curse before finally getting the key to turn and opening the door.

“Hey, wait!” Jean nearly slapped himself for speaking so stupidly again, but it did the trick. Just as the The Man nearly disappeared into the frame, he turned around to face Jean with a softly expectant look. “Um, hold the door? I was just going in.” The Man gave him a quizzical once-over causing Jean to blush even more.

“Yeah, sure.” He grinned. Jean jogged up to the entrance, nodding gratefully. Confirmation: The Man had freckles. “Do you work here?”

“Uh, yeah, kinda, I’m—"

“Hey!” Christa shouted. She was just leaving the workroom when she spotted Jean, a towel over her shoulders and a smile on her lips. “I was about to call you, worried you forgot!” She looped her arm through Jean’s and pressed a kiss to his cheek. The Man looked on, smiling brightly at the pair. “We gotta hurry, Reiner and Annie are already warmed up, Levi was just yelling at us about…”

Jean let Christa drag him down the hallway to the stage, glancing back over his shoulder at the stranger. The Man was already occupied with the storage closet so Jean dejectedly turned back to Christa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meet & Greet (sorta): long and filler-y, background crappp


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bad shit//good shit : also : drug and alcohol warning

Jean saw The Man only one other time that afternoon. He made a point to look extra graceful during practice, stretching his limbs and swaying his hips more earnestly than usual. Unfortunately this didn’t garner the attention Jean wanted.  


“Yo,” Reiner pulled him back, leaning down to look Jean in the eyes while the girls continued to practice lateral flexion positions. “Are you high sweet cheeks? I mean you look good but--”  


“What? No, I’m just--”  


“Like it’s no big deal you just look really--”  


“I’m fine, just, I don’t know, feeling my oates or whatever.” Jean’s cheeks burned. He let his eyes slide down and focused on the blackout floor.   


“Okay dude.” Reiner smiled and patted his ass. “Should we do jumps now? Or a runthrough?”   


“I’m worried about our polymeter stretch, I think we should get the girls to do their rotation first.” Jean threw himself into practice again, trying to keep himself from looking at the bar every five seconds.   


Levi showed up a half hour before their practice was over to help with the Sunday Night Karaoke prep. Jean hadn’t seen The Man for a few hours and his hope of speaking to him again dwindled. Christa and Annie called it quits for the day a little after five, they had to be at their recital by six so Reiner and Jean agreed to work on their own for another thirty minutes before helping Levi with set up. Neither of them were scheduled in for a performance or as wait staff tonight but Reiner loved to attend Karaoke Night anyway. Jean was finishing his stretches when he saw The Man again. He was with Connie, pulling tables from the storeroom onto the lacquered dance floor. Jean paused mid stretch, his body folded at the waist and hands pressed to the floor, to watch. Connie was fucking around with the foldout bits, flapping them and snapping the adjustable lengths into place while The Man arranged the chairs. Jean stretched down a little more, feeling his calf muscles burn, to get a better look at the freckled stranger.   


“Hey! Ready to get-- woah!” Reiner slapped Jean on the back, causing the young man to fall forward, crumpling at the knees. “Sorry, babe!” The burly man helped Jean to his feet and laughed a little. “Look alive, sweetie, I’m gunna go get ready to go, don’t hurt yourself.”  


“Fuck you, _Divine_.” Jean frowned, rubbing the back of his neck and blushing. He tried to keep his gaze from sliding to the other men in the room, knowing that Reiner’s outburst had caused them to turn. Jean snatched his towel up and stormed off stage, rushing back to the workroom to change. He shakily lit a cigarette and pulled off his tight dance leggings. They’d left little imprints up his legs and Jean scowled at the lines, rubbing them red. He pulled his cutoffs over his hips once his junk was in its proper place. The shorts hung a few inches above his knees and Jean blushed, hoping The Man would get a good look at his legs as Jean left. His Matise outline tattoo on the side of his thigh peaked out from the hem. Jean kept his loose dance shirt on and gently flexed his arms in the mirror, fuck him for caring. He took another drag of his cigarette and brushed his fingers through his hair, no hope, the blonde fringe stuck sweaty to his forehead while his undercut sparkled with flecks of perspiration. He rubbed the used towel over his head but it only made it worse. He’d put in a new silver ring through his second hole next to his stud this morning and it caught the light of the workroom well enough. Jean sighed again.   


Reiner was waiting for Jean near the entrance of the bar, chatting with Levi and the newly arrived Bertholdt. Reiner and his tall boyfriend were holding hands and leaning into each other. Jean couldn’t imagine the trust in their relationship. They’d been together for nearly three years but knew each other for over ten. They were both from New Mexico and Bertholdt had started school as an architecture student at UNM but transferred up north after Reiner graduated and was accepted to Wesleyan. They’d been friends and then lovers through the years, their relationship transforming gradually and seamlessly. Jean was a liar if he said he wasn’t jealous. He’d only been in one semi-serious relationship with a girl during his sophomore year at NYU. She was too kind and beautiful for Jean to be anything more than infatuated with her. They lasted about six months before Jean cheated on her with a daddy-bear he found at Wall Rose one Saturday night. Jean was also a liar if he claimed to be a good person.   


When Jean sidled up to Reiner and Bertholdt  he caught the tail end of Levi’s rant. “... He seems good enough for now, Connie’s such a fucking incompetent ass sometimes so we really needed the extra help.”   


“Have you hired him yet?”  


“Gunna wait til this weekend's over before I do anything official. Now get the fuck out unless you wanna stick around and help wait staff.”   


Reiner smirked and squeezed Bertholdt’s hand before clapping Jean on the back and moving toward the entrance. “We’re going, we’re going, I’ll be back later, off the clock.” He winked at Bertholdt before leading Jean outside. Jean swept his gaze over the club, heart dropping a bit when he couldn’t see his object of attention among the shiny tables and coloured spots of light. Reiner was already talking about something by the time they were on their way to the subway station.   


“Just gunna stop at home for my makeup kit, Bertholdt, bless him, totally forgot it! Are you coming in tonight? Did you meet the new bartender, the cute one? Poor guy, working with Connie and Sasha’s gunna break his tender soul.”  


“The freckled guy?” Jean tried to keep his voice carefree, casually lighting another cigarette. He looked over at Reiner.  


“Yeah, you totally saw him. He looks nice. Kinda clean-cut but whatever.”  


Jean nodded. “Did Levi tell you his name?”  


“Uh, yeah, maybe, I don’t remember. You interested?” Reiner nudged Jean’s shoulder and wagged his eyebrows. Jean turned red and coughed a little, scowling at the ground.  


“No! I just wanna know who I’m working with. I bet he’s a fucking thief or a creep or whatever.”   


“Okay grumpypants, you should come tonight though, get dolled up and--”  


“I’m busy.”   


“Right, whatever. Are you going to that gallery show with Petra on Tuesday? She asked me to bring Bert but we were going to go see Ymir’s comedy thing.”  


Fuck Ymir. “Yeah I guess so.” Reiner smiled again.  


“Yay! Okay good, when’s your next shift?”  


“Not til Thursday.” Fuck Levi.  


“Wait you mean Bert’s birthday, Thursday?” Reiner stopped at the entrance to the subway causing an angry looking businessman to curse their unborn children. Jean tugged on his sleeve and pulled the sad looking drag queen into the underground.   


“Yeah, I’m really sorry, I tried to get Levi to change it but the fucker just booked me an hour later. I’ll try to stop by after my shift.”   


“You fuckin’ better, I’m heartbroken. I was preparing that dance number for the party and everything--”  


“Dance number?” Jean side eyed him as they waited by the tracks.   


“Yeah, you, me and Christa. The one we did a few weeks ago at Wall Rose.” _Oh_. Jean remembered that dance. He remembered the Smirnoff and the floor of his bathroom smelling like puke for the next week even more. Jean was about to pitch a hissy fit but the R train pulled into the station just before he went off on the blonde man. Jean sulked by a hand rail for the better half of his ride home. Reiner kissed Jean’s cheek before he got off at his stop near the East Village and Jean sneered, hunching up his shoulders at the contact.    


Christa and (god bless) Ymir were both absent from the apartment when Jean finally got home. The sun was arching across the wood floor in the living room, accenting the scratchy oriental rug under their coffee table. His apartment was quiet and heavy; the air conditioner hummed from the window and swirled the dust in the dappled evening light. Jean pulled off his clothes and dropped onto the velvet couch. The cool air shuffled in his hair and tickled his eyelashes. The traffic outside was soft and wrapped around Jean like a humid cocoon in the hollow city. He closed his eyes and began to drift. The grey cat jumped onto the couch and tucked itself into the space between Jean’s waist and the back cushions. It rested its head on his stomach and purred. Jean didn’t have the energy to push it off him.   


When he woke up the apartment was dark and the air conditioner had made the tip of his nose cold. He sat up, disturbing the still sleeping cat and rubbed his goosebumpy arms. He pushed the animal off himself and stood. It was only 9 but Christa was still out. He checked his phone and saw that his roommate had texted saying she’d be at Ymir’s tonight. Jean wanted to be happy, he’d have the apartment to himself but honestly he was a little disappointed. He kind of wanted company. If he hurried he might still be able to make it to Karaoke but Jean decided he wasn’t that lonely. He absently scratched at the cat’s ears. He should probably eat. Jean found the remains of what looked like a kale salad and a protein shake in the fridge. He checked his wallet and pulled out a few tens and the card for his favorite thai place. He called in and ordered green curry and extra rice. While he was waiting he took another shower and put on a tshirt. It was nearly 10 by the time Jean was sitting back on the velvet sofa with his dinner and watching an episode of Chopped. The cat was sitting on their coffee table watching Jean scoop the curry into his mouth. Jean put his foot on the table in front of the cat’s face to block it’s yellow eyes.   


This sucked.   


Jean was lonely. This night wasn’t much different from other weeknights but it seemed to suck even more. At least Christa and her rude girlfriend were usually around to make Jean feel alive. He waddled over to the window in his bedroom and smoked a cigarette into the night. He watched the cars outside through the skimpy trees on the sidewalk. Jean looked around his bookshelf by the window for his weed box. If he was going to be lonely he might as well make it worthwhile with a joint. He had a few spliffs left so he put a decently sized one between his lips and blazed up.   


Jean smoked lazily. The night drifted by him and he eventually opened up his laptop and hooked up his speakers for music. He got through three albums before he finally fell asleep, leaving his window open and letting the cat curl up at the foot of his bed.

  
_____  


Christa woke him up the next morning around 11. She slammed the front door open and closed and kicked off her shoes into Jean’s door. He heard her curse out a soft apology ( _fuck, sorry_ ) and fall into the bathroom. Jean immediately sat up, Christa being aggressive was never a good sign. He cautiously opened his door and heard the water running in the bathroom. Jean decided to make some coffee and wait in the kitchen. He drank a few cups waiting for her to emerge. When he finally heard the door open, he saw Christa quickly exit and shuffle to her room.  


“Wait, Christa!” Jean stumbled after her. He caught her hand and held her small wrist. She looked like she’d been crying, her blue eyes even brighter and accented by red rims. He gasped when she let out a sob and fell into his chest.       


“Hey, hey, slow down.” Jean tugged her onto the couch and handed her a pillow to hold instead. “What’s going on? Did Ymir--”  


“I broke up with her.”  


Jean sat very still. Christa was looking at his tattoo, tracing the black outline with her eyes. Jean took her hand. Her nails were painted a cheap looking barbie pink. They were chipped and needed to be filed.   


“Wait a sec.” He quickly got up and grabbed the nail polish remover, some cotton balls, a nail file and a softer looking blue color from the bathroom cabinet. He sat back down next to Christa and picked up her left  hand. She sniffled but flexed out her fingers, welcoming Jean’s touch.  


“I thought she was cheating on me.” Jean rubbed at the pink polish. “She called me a bitch and told me to stop making things up.” Christa took a shuddering breath. “She told me I had to get over my anxiety because it was controlling _her_ now.” Jean squeezed her hand. _Fuck_ Ymir. “I tried to explain but she just blew up, telling me it was too much, _I_ was too much.” Jean started filing her nails. “So I said we should take some time. Like, a few weeks. I don’t maybe, we spend too much time together. I just-- I _love_ her. I mean, I do, but it’s just a lot.” The blue polish looked beautiful against her pale skin. Christa watched Jean finish up her manicure, letting the humming air conditioner fill the silent apartment. She wiped at her teary eyes with her left hand while Jean finished up the last few nails on her right.   


“Let them dry and I’ll do a second coat.” Christa nodded and picked up Jean’s coffee cup. She swirled the coffee for a moment before taking big gulp. “How was the recital?”   


Christa sniffled. “Okay. One girl fell during the Mussorgsky piece but it wasn’t too bad.” She took another sip.   


“Do you want a fresh cup? That’s probably cold.”   


She shook her head. “... I think we’ll be okay. This is healthy, right?”   


Jean shrugged. If he was being honest, he couldn’t say he truly believed Ymir deserved Christa. This wasn’t their first fight, they’d taken breaks in the past and Jean lost count of the nights he’d spent up with Christa after Ymir had left the girl in near tears. He started the second coat.   


“I’m not going to call her.” Jean squeezed her fingers. “Can we get drunk?” Christa looked thoughtfully at the floor and Jean let out an involuntary laugh.   


“Honey, it’s only noon.”   


Christa shrugged. “I guess.”   


Jean caught her eye. “Do you have a shift tonight?”   


“No. I teach a class at 3 tomorrow and I guess I’ll go to the gallery thing instead of her, ya-know, her show...”   


“Okay.”  


Christa looked up. “Okay?”  


“Yeah!” Jean jumped off the sofa and found a bottle of cheap vodka under the sink. He grabbed Ymir’s sparkling cranberry juice from the fridge and went back to Christa.   


“Let’s get tipsy, baby!”

_____  


Jean was late to his lunch shift the next afternoon. He ran up the back steps of Sina’s Bistro a little after 11:30 and headlong into Petra. She gasped.  


“Jean, you’re literally an hour late, what the hell!” Jean had the decency to look ashamed and quickly apologized to the redhead.   


“I’m so sorry, traffic?” He raised his shoulders and gave her a sheepish smile.   


“Oh my God, just get to work. We have like, eighty people out there and more than half haven’t been served yet.” Jean nodded and finished tying his apron.  


The afternoon dragged on. He was busy running tables until well past lunch time but the distracting customers didn’t help his headache or make the hours pass by any faster.   


Sina’s was a bit of a touristy place. It was a block away from Broadway and was famous for catering for Broadway productions and events. Jean worked part time as a waiter for the busy restaurant during the week. Petra’s father was a chef at the bistro and had put in a good word for Jean. Ymir was also a chef at Sina’s but Jean had yet to see the bitch. He had words for her that he knew were mostly fueled by his own issues and had no place in the bistro. He would deal with her when he had to.  


Jean and Petra were both finished at five and decided to head back to Jean’s place to change and pick up Christa before meeting Thomas at the gallery in Williamsburg. They boarded the subway and chatted about their dance instructors until they arrived. Jean really like Petra. She was pretty and smart and kind. She was the kind of person Jean always imagined himself settling down with. But Jean was afraid of these kinds of people. They could only ever get so close to Jean. The girl from NYU had been like Petra and he’d broken her heart. He was a dangerous thing.   


Petra sipped a bottle of Topo Chico while Jean changed into a nicer looking shirt. Petra was wearing a white soft cotton dress and a pair of keds. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled into a messy bun on top of her head. Jean admired her shoulders and the curve of her waist. Thomas was lucky, he’d better not fuck it up.   


Christa got home a few minutes after them and decided she too would change. She looked better, a little droopy and sad if she wasn’t concentrating on something, but relaxed. Jean noticed she’d put on a high-waisted skirt and yellow crop-top as he joined them in the living room.   


“Alright, this is good. Petra you look beautiful as always, and Jean you’re jeans are kinda dirty but your face might make up for it. Ready?”     


Petra laughed and took Jean’s hand in one and Christa’s in the other before pulling them out the door.   


____  


“According to Thomas, this guy just graduated but he’s supposed to be amazing. They were friends I think, but Thomas was two years behind.” Christa led them up the steps of the gallery to Thomas. The boy was leaning against the open door frame, smoking. “Hey!” She kissed her boyfriend. “I was just telling them about Marco!”   


“Oh yeah? I saw his stuff a bunch at school, he’s amazing.”  


“What did I say?” Christa smiled and slipped her hand in Thomas’s. The boy put out his cigarette and nodded toward the entrance.  


“Come on up, I think we still have some Franzia.” Thomas led them up a set of stairs to an open gallery. The typical white walls were spotted with dark and colorful photographs. Jean paused at the top of the stairs, letting his friends go on and mingle with the small crowd around the refreshments. He focused on the artist's statement by the first line of photos. He scanned the block of text, reading over the carefully composed sentences. The concept was intricately simple; traditional still life subjects (fruit, flowers etc.) but left for many days over and shot in near complete darkness with a very slow shutter speed. The result was lonely, decaying fruit and wilted flowers. Jean moved on to look at the photos, pausing by each frame and drinking in the details of the shot. He’d taken a few art history classes in college so the concept of a still life was familiar to him. They were meant to capture fleeting beauty and ephemeral moments of life and, subsequently, death. A still life captured “dead nature” and used symbols to create elaborate messages for the viewer. Jean stared at photo of a bouquet of sunflowers rotting on a white table cloth.   


“This is one of my favorites.” Jean jolted and turned towards the voice. Thomas was standing next to him holding out a plastic glass of the cheap boxed wine for Jean. He took the cup of Sunset Blush and nodded.   


“Yeah, it’s beautiful…” Jean took a sip.  


“Do you wanna meet him, the artist? He can talk more about it. I think I just saw him a minute ago-- Oh, hey, Marco!” Thomas turned around and reached out to someone. Jean nodded again absentmindedly, continuing to focus on the art.   


“Yeah?” Jean stiffened at the voice.  


“Hey, this is my friend Jean, he’s Petra’s dance partner.” Jean turned around. The Man, (Mark?) was standing next to Thomas, smiling. He held his own cup of Franzia and had a toothpick between his lips. Jean swallowed.  


“Hey, I’m Marco, the uh, artist I guess.” He laughed a little embarrassedly and pulled the toothpick out, smiling even bigger and exposing his cosmetically aligned teeth. Marco reached out a hand to Jean.  


“Hi, I, uhh, really like your work,” Jean shook Marco’s hand, “especially this one. It’s kinda really beautiful.” Fuck him, he was blushing so hard. And he definitely held the guys hand too long. Fuck. His stomach curled a little and it hurt to swallow another sip of wine.    


“Oh yeah?” Marco laughed again, _giggled_ , maybe. “Thanks,” cue smile, “this was one of the first pieces in my series. I really like sunflowers.”   


Jean nodded. “I can tell. It looks like you let them wilt a little longer.”  


Marco looked at him. “Have we met before?” Jean snapped his eyes to the man’s face. “I mean, god, sorry, this sounds like really bad line, but you honestly look really familiar.”   


“I don’t think so, sorry.” Jean covered his lie with another splash of wine. Marco opened his mouth again but paused when a sharp slap broke the relative calm of the gallery. They both quickly turned toward the noise. Christa was standing over some guy with thin blonde hair. She held her ground, letting her hand fall back to her side.  


“Don’t you fucking touch me.” She dropped the rest of her Franzia over the man’s head and stepped over his sprawled legs. Christa walked quickly over to Jean and took his hand. “Can you please take me home?” She didn’t pull her gaze up long enough to look at Jean or at the other silent gallery attendees.

“Um, yeah. It was nice to meet you, sorry about this.” Jean waved his hand toward the stunned, damp man and the quiet room.  
  
“It’s alright-- um, thanks for coming!” Jean was already half way down the stairs by the time Marco had a chance to call after him. “Be safe…” He heard the parting words from the bottom of the staircase, his left hand in Christa’s and his right gripping the door handle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I don't hate Ymir, I just think people tend to glorify their relationship and I'd like to see that challenged. Relationships are rocky and sometimes people suck.


End file.
